Holidays - The extraordinary burden we ask them to carry..

It's that time of year again. Suitcases are being retrieved from the darkest corner of the loft, sunscreen checked for "use by" dates and bathing suits - scrutinized, discarded and unceremoniously replaced. Discussions are held in-household, asking why we left it so late to do almost everything, and promises are made around wholly unrealistic departure times for Gatwick airport. Meanwhile, other-peoples-photos are already beginning to arrive on your phone, with other-peoples-kids, tanned and permanently airborne, colourful umbrella drinks obscuring even more colourful sunsets.

Our holiday countdowns have begun in earnest, and the conversations sound increasingly desperate. "Only three weeks to go"... or " I just need to get through the next few days"...

If you listen carefully, holidays are often spoken about less as something we are looking forward to and more as something we are trying to merely survive long enough to go on.

And whilst I really do love a holiday as much as the next fellow, I found myself wondering the other day, about the extraordinary burden we place upon our fragile, occasional vacations.

Holidays do so much heavy lifting when you consider it. We are effectively asking them to fix the mess that we have spent the past 11½ months making. We ask that holidays restore and rejuvinate us, thety reconnect us with parents, partners and progeny. That they reward us and heal us. We demand that our vacations to provide us with so many "precious moments" and amazing memories.. that's a lot to ask from two weeks on the Costa Brava.

So what happens when we return? What do we actually bring back from our over-burdened mini-breaks? It is genrally a game of three thirds. The getting there, the being there and the going home. First up, getting there. Deconstructed, it is an unbridled litany of difficulties. The packing, the queues, the delays, the lack of overhead baggage space. The heat on arrival, the queues (again) and the arrogance of our judgement around the taxi driver's command of English.

As for coming home? Well that's a strange one.. because more than occasionally, our return to the grindstone is so painful, we have to leap into a narrative whose only purpose is to totally diminish the holiday and justify returning to normal life. "Two weeks was lovely, but 10 days would have been enough"... "It was really great, but I am so glad to be home"... No, we are absolutely NOT glad... what are we talking about?..

It's the bit in the middle that interests me - at least for this little essay - the things that we were clever about and where we generally feel we excel. This is the holiday story where we get to publically justify all our clever choices - of opting for rooms away from the pool, ponying up for the "private" boat trip, enrolling in the kids club and hiring a hotel Nanny. "Oh... I am just so glad we planned all that.."

It's also the part that carries the heart of our experiences and gives away our real wish-list for life. The leisurely breakfasts, the afternoon naps, the sunset walks and the book we just couldn't put down. The family time and just being with the people we love. Those are the things we create, becuase that is what we all truly crave.

So how come we reserve these pleasures for the "couple of weeks away"? Do we really convince ourselves that for the entire rest of the year, we are too busy for them? Maybe our holidays are not giving us something but actually revealing something a bit deeper...

We are showing that version of ourselves that emerges, when the pressure is off and expoectations soften slightly... The version of us that notices things and expresses genuine curiousity.. The part of us that remembers to be present and not the one constantly glancing at the phone, or the clock, or the calendar.

Of course, it would be silly to think that we could leave our flat in Central wherever, and head of for 3pm cocktails at the Greek Taverna. It is less figurative than that. It's not about changung locations, it's about changung pace. Not desperately seeking permission so much. Not embracing the concept of "I haven't got time for that"... so readily.

We don't need permission to slow down, take a walk, run a bath and read a book that we just can't put down. We don't have to choose to wolf down our breakfast and run for the bus. We are the ones writing the script. We don't need to get on a plane to compensate for a lack of life balance.

That's why I am campaigning to release some of the burden from what we ask of our holidays.. What we demand of the seaside in restoring our depleted selves, because we have just spent the entire year neglecting ourselves.

The French are pretty good at it. And boy, have we noticed... "How come they can have 2-hour lunches like that?"... "How come the shops all shut at midday, so the French can have a National snooze?"... "Why do they shop at those outdoor markets, when they could be charging around Aldi, like they are trapped in a burning buidling?"...

Them French don't reserve every pleasure for a fortnight in August. Perhaps that's the secret... Not taking more holidays, and certainly not taking any fewer.. but creating a lifestyle that requires just a little less "escaping from". A lifestyle that contains small moments of genuine restoration way before we blow the dust off the Samsonites. One that includes pauses, rather than one that dodges imminent collapse from fatigue.

And if that is true, then perhaps the greatest souvenir we can bring home is not a Sombrero or a bag full of duty free, but the decision to make home feel a little bit less like somehwere we need a holiday from.

Just a thought.

On Platform 13, wholeness isn’t found - it’s remembered. Because loss is loss, worthiness is universal, and no one is alone. We are all in this together.